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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590949">Till love has all his rites</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony'>Melanie_D_Peony</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, Loosely based on Much Ado About Nothing, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Smoking, Spiked drinks but it's not that bad, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:42:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apocalypse came and went, but Aziraphale and Crowley are still dancing around each other. Newton, Madam Tracey and Anathema, tired of the pining, use clever deceit to bring the celestial couple together. But things go south, because of course they do, and the vindictive visit Hell pays to Crowley further complicates matters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anathema Device &amp; Newton Pulsifer, Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell &amp; Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Till love has all his rites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work of fan fiction. The author does not own any of these characters.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><em>"How many angels on the head of your pin?<em></em></em><br/>Half an angel per pin at best<br/>Add wings, add heart, add harp, all set"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h4>Act 1</h4><p>The Apocalypse makes for the strangest bedfellows, Aziraphale thought as he raked his eyes across the large and merry congregation. </p><p>He happily popped another canape in his mouth and swung his feet to the rhythm of the music, provided by the wedding musicians who were about as underwhelming as these bands tend to be. Angels did not dance, except for the gavotte, so he was reduced to sitting on the precipice of the dancefloor, but he was convinced that a bit of gentle swaying did not count as a transgression. He didn't mind being left in the basket much. Judging by the way Crowley was convulsing on the dance floor, these modern dances appeared to make for quite a painful experience.</p><p>'Good evening, Mr. Fell.' Someone greeted him from above his left shoulder and the young lady Device entered his field of vision. She was nursing an appetisingly colourful cocktail, complete with a nifty little umbrella and joined Aziraphale by the table.</p><p>'Why, Anathema, it's lovely to meet you again.'</p><p>This was partly true, at least in comparison. The principality did not like to make acquaintances, as a rule. But Anathema was one of the few people around here whom he had met before, so she hardly counted as someone new. </p><p>'Lovely wedding, isn't it?' Chatted Anathema.</p><p>'Charming.' Aziraphale agreed. 'Madam Tracy makes the most beautiful bride.'</p><p>If it wasn't the elderly medium's matrimony, Aziraphale would have declined the invitation. He had no desire to be in noisy, crowded spaces, apart from his favorite restaurants and felt a bit uneasy about having to leave his bookshop behind. He'd only just gotten it back. But he also felt strangely obliged to Madam Tracy on account of having possessed her. </p><p>He brought Crowley as his plus one. He prefered the demon where he cloud keep an eye on him. Crowley only came to indulge in the free booze anyway.         </p><p>'Do you go to a lot of them? Weddings? As part of your job?' Anathema wondered, keen to keep up the small talk. She dipped behind her paper umbrella for a moment, taking a sip.</p><p>'You mean my job as an angel? Or as the owner of a bookshop? Because I fail to see what either of those would have to do with…'</p><p>'You own a bookshop?' Anathema dropped her straw back in her drink abruptly. 'I hadn't realised. I kind of imagined that you were a…'</p><p>'Some kind of priest?' Chuckled Aziraphale. 'You lot seem to forget sometimes that being religious and God fearing are not necessarily interchangeable. Or vice versa. In fact, I would be quite happy if I never had the misfortune of associating with some of the pious community. Most people mean well of course, but to be completely honest, I'm a bit embarrassed by the fundamentalists. Same goes for the other side, though. Some of the satanists I've encountered are perfectly pleasant people, which means they are missing the point altogether. Do not bring them up to Crowley, though, unless you want to hear a long, rambling talk.' </p><p>'I should have known,' Anathema smiled in her drink, realising that the actual champion of long - winded rants was sitting with her and he was projecting, <em> hard</em>. 'that you were involved with books. You seemed to have a proper appreciation of the Prophecies. It's a sure sign of an actual bibliophil, to know how the care for such a singular volume.'</p><p>'I'm surprised you hadn't known already. I seem to recall that my shop was also referenced in that wonderful book of yours.'</p><p>'A lot of prophecies only make sense in retrospect, I'm afraid.'   </p><p>'I do feel fretfully sorry for having borrowed your precious folio, without your permission.' Aziraphale worried his hands. Anathema didn't know that his "care" involved leaving the book in the middle of a blazing store - not on <em> purpose</em>, mind. 'If it counts for something, it proved to be vitally important for my companion and me. I mean, we didn't influence the outcome of the Apocalypse as much as we had hoped. But if it wasn't for your great grandma's help, we would have been… what's that modern expression… crumpet?'</p><p>'You probably mean toast, Mr. Fell.' </p><p>'Please. It's Aziraphale. No need for such formalities amongst friends.'</p><p>Anathema found that she liked this strangely grumpy angel. While he was making a condemnable effort to be polite to her, the celestial being was clearly wishing very hard that he was safely tucked away, perhaps in his aforementioned shop with his books and, maybe, a bottle of good Cabernet instead. Aziraphale, all bark, no bite, reminded her of some of his older relatives.</p><p>'Has she been in touch since?' Inquired the principality tactfully, wishing to end the natural little break in their conversation. 'Agnes, I mean.' </p><p>'Twice, actually.' Anathema admitted. 'First, she sent a second volume of prophecies.</p><p>'I am well aware of that. You and Mr Pulsifer had burnt that one already, hadn't you?'</p><p>Anathema blushed.</p><p>'I had no intention of living my life to my ancestors command post the not so much of an Apocalypse.' She cocked her head up defiantly, challenging the angel to try and chide her.</p><p>But Aziraphale merely nodded and turned his attention to the canapes as if using actual, accurate insight in one's own future as kindling was the most natural, logical course of action. Feeling emboldened by the principality's neutral reaction, Anathema reached in her purse and pulled out Agnes' second gift.</p><p>'I should have realised that my stubborn old witch of a great grandma will have a different opinion about that.'</p><p>She offered the small, silk bag to Aziraphale. The angel made his slice of bread disappear in one, hurried bite, dusted his hands and reached out in a gesture of acceptance. He gently undid the shiny ribbon that held the sack tied and poured its content of the flat of his palm.</p><p>The glinting, gold bands of the pair of rings sat there, appearing to be winking at them. </p><p>'What is the meaning of this, do you think?' Aziraphale wondered, studying the jewels intently.</p><p>Anathema sought out Newton, where he was standing, in deep conversation with Sergeant Shadwell.</p><p>'I think they are engagement rings.' She sighed. </p><p>Aziraphale followed her gaze.</p><p>'Say, are you and the young Pulsifer going steady?'</p><p>'Yes,' Anathema confirmed and if it came out as whine, well that wasn't intentional. 'but we've only known each other for a couple weeks and a proposal just feels rushed.' </p><p>Anathema contemplated the Witchfinder Private and the strange things her heart did when she looked at him. </p><p>'On the other hand,' she continued, fighting the urge to clutch her chest in order to quiet her palpitations. 'we did just survive the Apocalypse and an event like that reminds you of just how short life is. I mean, we are happy enough, so why wait then?'</p><p>Aziraphale mumbled something unintelligible. He handed back the rings and hid his opinion behind another bite of appetizers.</p><p>'What would you do?' Anathema let the gold bands tumble from one palm to another, the soft clink of metal on metal barely audible under the thumping bass of the music.</p><p>'Oh, my dear child, you don't want my advice on the matters of the heart. Aziraphale scolded her fondly.'</p><p>'You are an immortal being, who'd seen everything there is to see under the Sun, and the most intelligent person I've met. The fact that you managed to decipher Agnes' prophecies attests to that. Your advice is as valid as anyone else's.' The young witch shrugged, because who else was there to ask? She couldn't expect a fair and balanced opinion from her devoted family. And the only other person whose judgement would have mattered to her was the subject of this conversation. </p><p>'My intelligence is not so different from yours, Anathema. It's just broader and has had a bit more practice. And my understanding of love, despite my long existence, is limited at best.'</p><p>'I was lead to believe that angels were beings of love.' </p><p>'Yes, but that's the general kind. It's reverence for all of God's creatures.' </p><p>'Oh come on Aziraphale. Humor me. What's your opinion on love? Is it worth it?' </p><p>'Not if you have it in you to choose to shrug it off based on my evaluation.' Aziraphale answered with surprising honesty, maybe on account of Anathema using his first name. 'Most of the time it doesn't. But on occasions, you get these instances of <em> cataclysmic </em> love. They always remind me of the Flood. They start out as a gentle drizzle, a soft prickle on your skin and before you realise you are waist deep and washed off of your feet, drowning in devotion. And that is a <em> miracle </em> to behold.'</p><p>Anathema sighed. The speech was delivered with the kind of cork popping passion that implied a slow build up and fermentation of opinion. It begged the question. </p><p>'Aziraphale, did you ever…?'     </p><p>Anathema realised that she was making the angel uncomfortable from the way he averted his gaze towards the dancefloor, like someone looking for a life buoy before slipping under. But this was a fascinating conversation and a blissful distraction from her own personal drama, therefore she intended to continue it.</p><p>'This love we are talking about, this specific, carnal love,' Aziraphale lazily gestured with a napkin he picked up before dabbing it to his mouth. 'is a biological necessity for your kind. To quote the Bard on the matter: "The world must be peopled." That's simply not a need an angel has.'</p><p>Anathema rolled her eyes. Aziraphale was simply contradicting himself in a stumbling attempt to back out from the conversational corner he crowded himself in. He was clearly being intentionally obtuse.</p><p>'So that's where all romantic love stems from?' She pressed, barely holding back on the sarcasm. 'An urge to procreate?' </p><p>'Of course not.' Sighed the angel, evasiveness crumbling under the pressure. 'I, for one, always thought that it has its roots in the sacred kind of reverence. But as it is so often the case with you humas, you have the ability to turn it absolutely divine or ultimately infernal. However, propagation is amongst the underlying principles and it might make you understand why I don't feel the need to participate.'</p><p>And that would usually have been enough for her. Six thousand year old ethereal creatures have every right to declare what human customs strike their fancy and if romance is not one of them, well who is Anathema to argue? </p><p>But this instance was a bit different. Anathema wasn't going to let the topic slide, not after the dramatic welling of the angel's feelings regarding love. Aziraphale didn't seem to content himself with half measures. Take his passion for books. He could have admired them from afar and that would probably have aligned better with his holy nature. After all, isn't the kingdom of heaven inherited by the poor in spirit, or something like that? But the angel went out of his way to put his hand on a storeful of parchments and folios, apparently. Aziraphale was used to pursuing his interest. And he had a definite interest in the nature of <em> eros </em>.          </p><p>'Just because you don't <em> need </em> to partake in something it doesn't mean you <em> can't</em>.' Anathema saluted him with the remainder of her cocktail to illustrate her point. </p><p><em> So technically, you didn't answer my question</em>. She added inwardly.</p><p>'After all, you've been,' Anathema took a hesitant breath, scapering for less suggestive word than <em> indulging.</em> 'closely studying many of the other human habits. So why is this one off limits?'</p><p>'Logistics, mostly. I am eternal, ethereal creature of divine light and power. This may sound a bit crude, and my apologies if I offend, but for all intent and purpose, humans are the same to me as mayflies to you. You are over before you really begin. Even befriending humans is usually an exercise in futility. So what would be the point of allowing even greater affection and setting yourself up for inevitable grief and suffering? I am a lot of things, my dear girl, but a masochist is not one of them'. </p><p>Aziraphale ended his little remark with an irritated huff of laughter, trying to make light of it. But there was an overwhelming, milk curdling bitterness underlying it all. It made Anathema stole a second, more studious glance of the angel. She tried really hard to put herself in his shoes and imagine human connections ripening and ruining with the speed of cut flowers in a vase. She imagined blinking to find that the third of the people in the room were gone, another blink, another cohort missing, familiar faces replaced with alien ones, until life was merely more than a timelapse of a bustling train station.</p><p>She thought of books as human souls preserved in amber, as the echoes of the voices of ghosts. She thought about a certain principality's habit to greedily hoard volumes despite of it all.  </p><p>'But how about other angels?' Anathema offered the obvious. </p><p>'Angels shun the earthly pleasures, dismissing them as sacreligious.' Aziraphale explained disdainfully. 'It would hardly make sense to offer them to something so closely associated with greed, pride, lust and even gluttony.' </p><p>That seemed like the appropriate code of ethics for most angels, sure. But ifAziraphale was comfortable enough consuming his own weight's worth in bread, Anathema thought, happy to possess a whole selection of frowned upon material objects than it wasn't unimaginable for some other pagan angels to exist. He can't possibly be the only outlier, she hoped.</p><p>'Aren't you two having an interesting conversation?' </p><p>Crowley appeared next to them, swung a chair around artfully and straddled it so he could see both of them. He was flushed from dancing, top few buttons of his shirt undone, though he still sported his overcoat while his tie hung loosened around his neck. He twisted a beer bottle to his mouth and took a hearty swig. He looked ever so human, apart from his snake eyes that peered out from behind his glasses, hanging slightly askew on his prominent nose.</p><p>'Enjoying yourself?' Aziraphale nodded towards the dancefloor with his head. He tried in earnest to knot his brows in an expression of disapproval, but the corners of his mouth were tugging upwards, belying his scorn. </p><p>'Well let's see, the food is mediocre, the band is abysmal, the guests are all a bore. So yeah, I'm having a blast.' He roared with laughter. 'I fucking love weddings and you know that.'</p><p>'You do?' Anathema whipped her head to look at the demon.</p><p>'Of course. People, who can barely stand one another are forced to get together and pretend to be happy for each other, there's a lot of booze to mediate the process and the whole ordeal is stressful and costly for all parties involved. It's like Christmas all over again.'</p><p>'And you like Christmas too.'</p><p>'Hey, book girl, a Saturnalia is a Saturnalia, however you dress it up and those are the height of infernal fun.'</p><p>'You are full of surprises.' Anathema hummed.</p><p>'I guess I am.' Crowley grinned proudly and turned to Aziraphale. 'Care to join me on the dancefloor, angel?'</p><p>'One shouldn't try to dance the gavotte to this music.'</p><p>'One shouldn't try to dance the gavotte, full stop. But since that's the only caper you know we'll have to make do with it. What do you say?'</p><p>'That I'm much better positioned near the buffet, Crowley.'</p><p>Anathema watched the exchange, fascinated. Aziraphale's answer was firm, but he was letting Crowley down gently. He was showing enough regret to communicate how his rejection had more to do with public dancing than the proposal being Crowley's. Meanwhile, the demon's insistence spoke plainly about how he welcomed the angel's company, but it never became overbearing. The conversation was wrapped in soft smiles and was padded with meaningful glances, the gifting of something precious. It was a dance in itself, meticulously crafted, of opposing interests. A painstakingly maintained delicate balance. Anathema looked at it and she thought what anyone with her background and disposition would think. </p><p>She thought <em> fuck balance. </em></p><p>It was the instinct that gets all humans across the board to poke wasps nests just to see what happens. </p><p>Eyeing Crowley as he sauntered back towards the succession of swaying couples, she addressed Aziraphale.</p><p>'How about demons than?'</p><p>It was a blunt reference, more obnoxious than she intended. She realised that from the flutter of Aziraphale's glance, as it took Crowley in, then retreated to the sight of his hands as they clutched each other on the table. From the pink tinge of the angel's ears, accented by the way he tucked a strand of his feather down hair behind it.  </p><p>'Ridiculous proposition, Anathema.'</p><p>'What's so outlandish about it?'</p><p>'Demons and angels are wildly different.'</p><p>'You certainly have more in common than with humans. At least you are both immortal.' </p><p>'And with that you exhausted the list of our similarities.'</p><p>'Demons were angels once, weren't they?"</p><p>Aziraphale actually rolled his eyes towards the Heavens, as if in an attempt to draw from some holy reservoir of patience stored diametrically above him. </p><p>'That was a very long time ago.' </p><p>'All the better.' The young witch didn't feel discouraged by the lukewarm reception. 'It's quite perfect if you really think about it. A demon wouldn't shy away from the messy aspects of it all, wouldn't be put off by a bit of possessiveness here, a tad of jealousy there.' </p><p>'A demon would never consider bothering with anything containing a hint of love or a shred of divinity.'</p><p>Anathema contemplated this by observing Crowley. He made a rather pathetic but oddly endearing sight as he tried to duck the eager hands of Madam Tracy's court of merry spinsters, many of which became proportionally more grabby as the blood alcohol levels rose.  </p><p>'Crowley,' following her gaze Aziraphale made his comment with voice full of something that might have sounded like fond pride to the unanointed listener. 'is an outlier and should not be counted. And yet. He might be be the least demonic occult being. He might shy from being actively cruel in favour of setting up some minor temptations and merely observing the effect of it on the free will. He might, deep down, even be a bit of kind person. But you heard the way he was talking about weddings, about the incentives shaping patterns of behaviour when it comes to relationships. Crowley is Hell's most approachable demon and even he doesn't believe in love. Some people, creatures rather, are not created to be worshipful. And some simply aren't fit to being worshipped.'  </p><p>There was a unrelenting finality in Aziraphale's voice as he poked an accusatory finger in the air like a conductor ending a concerto. With that the conversation and Anathema's thoughts along with it came to a full circle. She smoothed her hand against the fabric of her purse, where she imagined the pair of rings to be.</p><p>'The high probability of rejection is rather sobering.'</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, then he must have caught Anathema's sour expression, because he added.</p><p>'You must not feel sorry on my behalf, child. There are a lot of things I can pour my excess of fervor in. There's food, music and theatre and lot more wonderful things your kind has invented that needs the proper appreciation of a true enthusiast. I survived the end days and I still have the world and my best friend in it. That's no small miracle. I intend to be grateful for every blessed minute I gained.' He turned back to the food and picked up another one of the small sandwiches. 'I think I shall start expressing gratitude with this little one here.' </p><p>Chewing thoughtfully on his last bite, the principality added.</p><p>'You should probably think of me as a confirmed bachelor. I have all that I need and what I don't have I don't need at all. I am quite happy being back to my old ways.' </p><p>And for her part Anathema tried really hard to believe him, trust the angels's resolute smile. And she would have succeeded if it wasn't for the almost undetectable, said quiver of the principality's lips.   </p><hr/><p>As far as Newton was concerned, outdoor weddings were much preferable to indoor ones. There was always a cosy stretch of shrubbery you can hide in from the prying eyes.</p><p>Oh, would you look at this. He didn't even propose and here he was, debating venues. He sat in the shadow of a lush bundle of rhododendrons, thumbing the outline of the plush covered ring box. He bought the ring with money he didn't have. To give it to a girl who might not care to have it. Something borrowed alright. Something sodding <em> blue </em>. </p><p>He heard footsteps approaching and looking up, Crowley filled his field of vision. The demon was busy studying the flowers with a frown of a drill sergeant. The effect of stern concentration was ruined somewhat by his drunken swaying and by the frequent, indulgent sips he took from the bottle he was nursing. He was mumbling something about slacking and lack of discipline as bent to the shrub to take a closer look at the stems. That was when he noticed Newton. </p><p>'Hey, soldier boy.' He greeted Newt, angry grimace morphing into one of concern. 'You look like shit. You didn't try the punch, did you?'</p><p>'No. Why?'</p><p>'No reason.' Crowley waved dismissively and slumped on the floor, next to the private with some difficulty. It was a chain of motions that was hard to navigate when drunk. 'On a completely unrelated note; make sure you don't drink from the punch.' </p><p>Eyeing Newton with a bit more benevolent expression than he'd spared for the flowers, Crowley's gaze fell on the jewel box.    </p><p>'Let me guess.' He grinned. 'It's for Anathema. Either that or you are really happy to see me.'</p><p>Newton laughed a little laugh of mortified anguish, before popping the box open, offering the sparkling combination of precious stone and gold for Crowley to see. The demon whistled appreciatively.</p><p>'Would you believe me if I said it was the latter?' He teased, hoping that Crowley will understand away his unwillingness to discuss his half baked plans for a proposal.</p><p>'Ooh, Mr. Pulsifer,' Crowley made sure that Newton can tell he was batting his eyes rapidly behind his glasses. 'it's all very sudden, but yes, I'll marry you. Matrimony has always been my favourite social experiment Hell has invented anyway.'</p><p><em>'Hell </em> invented?'</p><p>'Well, yeah. Who else? Monogamous relationships are destined to fail. After all, you are only like… what, twice removed from bonobos? And those don't mate for life. Trust me, I would now.' Crowley declared, plastering his mouth on his beer, his sentence hanging between them, half implying that he had been an ape at some point. Then he divorced himself from the bottleneck and cleared up his point. 'I saw a documentary.'</p><p>'You believe in evolution?'  </p><p>'No.' Crowley laughed. 'But that doesn't change anything. You lot are extremely bad at resisting temptation and monogamy is basically setting you up for a lifelong marathon of it. Exposure is key. What the source material doesn't seem to get about the Original Sin is the scope. You plant a seed and watch it bloom, over time.'</p><p><em>Great</em>, Newton thought as Crowley took a brief pause to drink more. He just learned that the Snake of Eden essentially bullied Eve into eating the forbidden fruit over the course of many months. Or, knowing Crowley being Crowley, probably annoyed her into doing so. Still, he didn't know what to do with the information. </p><p>'Temptation wears you down.' The demon explained, gesturing with his bottle that was still dangerously full, defying every law of nature. 'So you are faithful for, say, fifteen years before the fatigue sets in. Then you cheat and then you are miserable for the rest of your life.'</p><p>'How about the people who don't cheat?'</p><p>'Those are either liars, or just as miserable as the rest.'</p><p>'You are quite cynical.' Newton sighed. </p><p>'I object. My cynicism muscles are actually quite underdeveloped for a demon. The cynical thing to say would be that you will fuck up before you even make it to the honeymoon suite because you'd never been granted a blessing such as Anathema before. You'll subconsciously try and return to your default state of misery. Because that's familiar. You can handle that, you know you can. It's the joy that leaves you breathless and terrified.' </p><p>Crowley, having finished his impromptu speech, collapsed a little in on himself. He clasped his beer like it was the last thing anchoring him to Earth.  </p><p>'I like your lot.' The demon quieted as if he was just talking to himself now. 'I always have. We have a lot in common. We've both fallen from grace, for one. And as all fallen men, we both need the sun. We carve it, but we resent it all the same. A great fucking reminder of all the things we've lost. Of all the things we still have to lose. And I don't know about you in particular, but generally speaking, both your kind and I would rather destroy the one thing that made us happy with our very own hands than have it wrestled from us all over again.' </p><p>A sweaty strand of hair fell in the demon's face and he removed it from his eyes with a frustrated blow of air.</p><p>'The original sin was tricky business.' He sighed. 'But things have gotten easy ever since. Nowadays you recognise yourselves for the fallen you are, you are resigned to failing over and over again. Like me, you realise that all the grace bestowed upon you is wasted. You all seem to be standing, toeing the abyss and the merest push from me sands you into freefall. Some even dive before I get there.'    </p><p>Suddenly, Crowley was cracking his neck like he was just trying to shake the lethargy of demanding physical work from his shoulders.</p><p>'So how was that for flexing a bit of misandry?' He asked.</p><p>'Very impressive indeed.' Newton's mouth was full of something bitter and he found it hard to swallow. He stared down at the jewel box in his hand glumly, before stuffing it back in his pocket with shaking fingers.</p><p>He caught Crowley staring at him. The demon was chewing on his bottom lip contemplatively.</p><p>'It was just a passing thought anyway.' He hurried to say, meaning the ring.</p><p>'Just a spark of an idea, heh? One that you paid a hundred and fifty quid for?' Crowley flashed a shit eating grin, not even allowing Newton time to get impressed before he added. 'Did I ever tell you about <em> my </em> involvement with the wedding industry? That's right, Hell may have invented the game, but I perfected it.'</p><p><em> Just bloody splendid. </em> Newton thought.</p><p>'But,' continued Crowley and the gripping dark edge in his voice eased somewhat. 'there is one important difference between you and me. Newton, your kind has free will. I can not change my ways. I will always be a demon, no matter what. I may have broken loose from Hell, but damn I still couldn't pass the opportunity to spike the punch with a nail biting deterrent. But you, you can choose. You can choose a lot of things. You can decide, for one, to ignore the ramblings of a bitter old creature and see for yourself what you are made of and what can you achieve.'</p><p>Newton looked up and Crowley proceeded to wink at him, a tad more apologetically than mischievously. The young man felt himself welling with a feeling he wasn't used to experiencing outside the context of Shadwell. He was fond of this misfit, with his terrible sunglasses and even worse dance moves, his perpetual frown punctuated by his maniacal cackling, his weak attempt to lift him up even though he claimed to only have interest in doing the opposite. Crowley built a thorn crown of a persona, he wrapped himself in barbed wire and look at all the good it did - just made Newton want to offer an embrace all the more to take away the pain. </p><p>'And what about you?' He croaked in a somewhat humbled voice, resigned to liking broken people the most, just as he was intrigued exclusively by broken machines. </p><p>'I'll do what I'm best at.' Fishing out the bottle of Stop'nGrow from his unbelievably tight pocket Crowley gave it a little shake. 'Chaos is not simply my job, it's my passion. I elevate it to an art form. And no surprise at that. After all, I'm proficient at wracking havoc and have PhDs in both tomfoolery, being a menace and fucking shit up. All summa cum laude.'</p><p>'You shouldn't believe a word he says, you know. It's actually botany, civil engineering and astronomy.' Said Aziraphale as he appeared above them, bending over the bushes, earning himself a halo of flowers in the process. Crowley tipped his head back, trying to absorb his smile. 'The first two <em> is </em> to do with his hobbies and pet projects but I never could justify the third one. What have you been up to down here?'</p><p>'We got engaged."'Crowley answered while Newton spluttered beside him, nearly swallowing his own tongue.</p><p>'Everybody is in such a hurry to become wedded today.' Aziraphale sighed enigmatically. 'Does that still mean that I get a lift home?' </p><p>'I don't know if I'll have the time, now that Newt and I are busy running away together.' Crowley nodded with mock seriousness. </p><p>'Perhaps I should ask your husband if he'll allow you.' Retorted Aziraphale.</p><p>'You are being sexist right now, you know that?'</p><p>'Can I steal your bethrotted?' The angel turned to the young witchfinder.</p><p>'I don't think he should be driving anyone in his state.' Newton answered, appearing a little worried.</p><p>'Sober up?' Asked the angel kindly as he turned to Crowley again.</p><p>'Do I have to?' The demon pouted.</p><p>'No, you don't. I just thought that you disliked when I drive the Bentley.'</p><p>The demon sighed, relenting.</p><p>'Alright, angel, alright, where's the fire?'</p><p>Then Aziraphale flinched and Crowley blessed under his breath and there was a sudden shift in the relaxed mood Newton couldn't quite comprehend. </p><p>'Shit, angel I'm sorry.' Crowley was tripping over his own tongue in a flurry to apologise. 'Ignore me, I'm drunk.'</p><p>His voice was soft as if he feared that the angel was fragile like cut glass, designed for lower amplitudes and less harsh words only.</p><p>'It's late.' Aziraphale sighed. 'Let's go home.'</p><p>In reality the Sun had just began to set, it's soft glow tingting everything in gold. The party was meant to last for hours still. But Crowley simply nodded, then shuddered, like a wet dog shaking off water. He proceeded to make a face and smack his lips in disgust as the smell of alcohol that surrounded him like an aura vanished without a trace. His slumping posture straightened. He stopped slurring.</p><p>He quite literally sobered up, Newton realised with a hint of jealousy, trying to imagine a life sans hangovers. </p><p>'We must say goodbye to Madam Tracy first.' Aziraphale said warningly, while Crowley stood and dusted down his suit. A nod was his only response and Newt wondered if was experiencing some remnants of headache or nausea. </p><p>'And I better find Anathema.' He sighed, getting up and pointedly ignoring the wiggle of Crowley's eyebrows.</p><p>As they made their way across the length of the dance floor in search of the aforementioned women, the band stopped playing abruptly and the lead singer began to talk. He ushered everyone in for the tossing of the bouquet and they finally spotted the bride. Madam Tracy was busy positioning herself by the stage, back to the excited maidens, in an ungainly little stride like she imagined herself to be busy winning hammer throw for the team. Aziraphale and Crowley resigned themselves for a couple minutes of wait and so did Newton when he spotted Anathema, grimacing slightly with reluctance, amongst the ranks of ladies in the middle. The band provided a drumroll, as if they were accompanying an act on the tightrope and Madam Tracy lifted her bouquet over her head once, twice…</p><p>Crowley struck his nose in the air, inhaling with gusto. </p><p>'Can you feel it?' He addressed Aziraphale in a stage whisper, loud enough for Newt to hear in an attempt to talk over the suspenseful music. 'The delicious waves of envy? I helped to come up with this divisive little tradition, you know.'</p><p>'Did you now?' Aziraphale looked doting and dubious to equal measure.</p><p>'Well, who can tell for sure at this point? I seem to remember inspiring this one, but no one ever kept tally or bothered validating claims, so technically...' </p><p>They've never learned what Crowley was going say after. Because that moment something smacked into his face, knocking his glasses to the ground. Crowley caught the offending object out of reflex and whipped his head around in search of the perpetrator, too busy to notice how the angel beside him threw himself on his knees to find the shades that landed somewhere by their foot. Meanwhile the demon risked a glance at his hands, slowly paling as he realised that he was holding the bouquet. He did not dare to look, but could tell anyway that he was in the crosshair of many spiteful stares. It was one thing being responsible for all that jealous fury. It was quite another being the target of it.</p><p>'Here.' Aziraphale emerged, triumphant, holding the glasses out towards Crowley. Then quickly recalibrated as the dazed demon continued to clutch the flowers, gripping them like they were a protective force field of a sort.</p><p>Instead he stepped to his friend and propped the temples gently over his ears. </p><p>'Isn't that better, dear?' The angel tutted and the hollow, opaque lenses lifted to behold him. His expression turned a bit apprehensive amidst their laser focus and he reached to tidy up the demon's lapels a bit, fingers brushing, raking gently. A valiant effort, if a bit futile.  </p><p>Meanwhile Newton couldn't shake the feeling that he was witnessing something hallowed, never intended for him to see and was forced to avert his look, fearing the consequences of exposure as you'd do with a solar eclipse. He focused, instead, on Madam Tracy as she waved the lead singer nearer to herself. There was a hurried exchanged of words, then the man gestured at the band and they instantly began the first few beats of a jazzed up version of a classic waltz. This promoted a small outbreak of applause that proved to be infectious and soon the whole congregation was clapping and cheering the celestial pair on. Newt was convinced that the way the demon's face lit up was visible even from space as he turned invingtigly towards Aziraphale. And despite turning his eyes Heavenwards with a long suffering sigh, the angel was offering his hand to Crowley as he grasped after it, following the gesture up with an encouraging smile. He allowed himself to be lead in the middle of the floor as the music began to swell, while Crowley tossed the bouquet flippantly over his shoulder, right in Newton's hands.</p><p>'If they are not making out by the end of this number,' Suddenly, Madam Tracy was standing next to Newt. Either he got too distracted, watching the lone couple dancing or people were determined to sneak up on him today. 'then I'll eat my stockings.'</p><p>'I sure hope you purchased edible ones, Madam Tracy.' Anathema joined them, responding to the comment she must have overheard. It was impossible to have a private conversation with the speakers being overloud. Newt wondered if Crowley had been involved in that too. 'Apparently, they are "confirmed bachelors".'</p><p>Anathema was actually making air quotes with her fingers. It was a sure sign of her annoyance as she found that an appalling habit.</p><p>'Crowley doesn't seem to think that he deserves love.' Newton provided helpfully, happy to have some valuable input for once.</p><p>'And Aziraphale insists that he's only got this divine, generic love to give.' Anathema nodded.</p><p>'Maybe,' Newton sighed, surprising himself with just how disappointed he felt. 'they really aren't meant for each other.'</p><p>Madam Tracy evaluated this opinion with the eye of a professional. No she wasn't supernatural. But she did have a gift. So she wasn't a clairvoyant or able to read the future. What she <em> could </em> read, were people. You don't spend thirty years both as a medium and a rather motherly dominatrix without learning to pick up on the most subtle signals. Frowns, grimaces, shudders, Braille written on the skin, were her transcript of the innermost workings of the human conscious. Watching the underhanded exchange of glances and touches on the dancefloor, an emotion unfolded in front of her like a blueprint. She'd seen this passion build a million times over. This was love, there was no mistake about that. The only question was how to explain this to others with the necessary degree of eloquence. Finally, she settled on two words.</p><p><em>'Bull. Shit.' </em>She gestured on the dancefloor. 'Would you just look at them?' </p><p>In reality, the waltz played out like a car crash but rendered backwards. It was disastrous as first. Both men tried to lead at once and stopped in unison, hovering awkwardly. But then all the edges, all the jagged sharpnel started to rearrange themselves into something safe and comfortable. It began, as it always did, with the angel relenting, giving in to the temptation that was barely even there. He placed his free hand over Crowley's shoulder, allowing him to set the tempo. Even then, he was stiff as a rod, eyes glued firmly to the box his feet were making with deep concentration. Meanwhile the demon studied the down on the top of Aziraphale's head, frowning in dissatisfaction. Suddenly, he spun Aziraphale around, once, twice with flourish the beat did not call for. It made a shock of laughter burst out from the angel and only then did Crowley let him land back in his embrace, smiling himself. The missing symmetry was suddenly there, they were moving with the ease and elegance that is unique to partners who know and like each other well enough and Newton briefly wondered if you can get an infected root canal in your heart because that's how the deep and low, resounding ache in his chest felt like.  </p><p>'None of this is of real consequence, though.' Sighed Anathema beside him. 'We sort of assumed that their insubordination on the airfield meant that they were sacked from their respective jobs. Or whatever is the ethereal equivalent of getting fired for mucking horribly up. But Aziraphale still talks about what angels can and can't do as if he is part of the heavenly reserve.'  </p><p>'Crowley is also back to being drunk and disorderly.' Newton chimed in, mentally calculating how much trouble would the demon be in if he warned Madam Tracy about the prank with the punch.</p><p>'That's not really a problem. It wouldn't be the first time they've made an exception for each other now, would it?' </p><p>They contemplated the angel and the demon, looking lost to the world in each others' arms. Newt couldn't help but feel they came to a silent consensus. </p><p>'I think we need to interfere.' Anathema was the one to voice what they were all thinking. </p><p>'But what can we say or do to convince them?' Newt asked despite wanting to help just as badly. It's just that he had a shedful of broken electrical fixer-uppers, he also thought he could improve, to attest to the risks embedded in trying to meddle with something. 'How can we change such an old stasis?' </p><p>'I promised myself that I won't do this again after the Ormerod fiasco.' Muttered Madam Tracy, but she seemed committed to the cause anyway. 'It's rather invasive. But I'm afraid here we'll need the matchmaking version of firing a cannon next to one's ears, otherwise these two will remain oblivious.' </p><p>Grabbing Newton and and Anathema, one shoulder each, the medium motioned them closer to herself.</p><p>'I have a plan, but we don't have much time.' she said that as the music reached a crescendo, heavily implying that the song was coming to an end. </p><p>The angel and the demon were already approaching them by the time she laid out the last details of her plan, verbally smoothing creases on her convoluted con. She just finished talking as Aziraphale and Crowley stepped up to them. Newton thought that the angel looked like he was about to fizz over the brim of a glass, flushed, smiling, eyes full of twinkle. Crowley stood slightly behind him with with the expression of someone museing about a self deprecating inner joke. Madam Tracey pulled the young witch and witchfinder in for a quick hug.</p><p>'Commence operation lovegods.' Newton heard her whisper, before releasing them, allowing her the pair to make their excuses and exit to the left. </p><hr/><p>Aziraphale stepped  up to their host with arms open wide, Crowley in tow. Like a reigning monarch giving an audience, Madam Tracy turned to the angel and the demon.</p><p>'Thank you so much for having us.' He pressed his cheek to hers. 'I haven't been to such a fun wedding in eons.'</p><p>'I am so glad you came.' Madam Tracey responded meaningfully. </p><p>Crowley did not go for a hug, instead he bowed a little and pressed a his lips to Madam Tracey's knuckles.</p><p>'Congratulations. And if Shadwell ever steps out of line or just looks at you the wrong way, well, you know my number.' The demon spoke lightly, almost jokingly, but it was clear that the underlying sentiment was sincere. 'Never too late for us to run away. You are just too fuking good for Shadwell anyway.' </p><p>'Thank you.' Smiled Madam Tracy, freeing her hand to brush it gingerly across his cheek. 'But I think I should be able you handle my old man.' </p><p>'Forgive him.' There was no bite to Aziraphale's chiding, only barely suppressed adoration. 'Weddings make him sentimental.'</p><p>Crowley whipped his head around, clearly glaring at him from behind his glasses. His faint blush was only more pronounced in the absence of the sight of his amber eyes. Nothing the complement the blotches of pink on his alabaster skin.</p><p>'Bastard.' He mumbled as if he didn't know how the insult will please the angel. He wasn't really angry though. He would have been the first to admit that weddings had a way of getting to him. Aziraphale called it being sentimental, but it had more to do with all the evil current underpinning every such event. He'd have said he got a bit high on them. If only to scandalise the angel. </p><p>'Heaven only knows how many people he proposed to tonight.' Aziraphale was busy filling in the silence. 'And that's still nothing compared to what he'd done at the wedding at Cana.' </p><p>'Oh, shut up. You can hardly expect a demon to be faithful, angel.' Crowley's retort was rather belated, but enough to halt Aziraphale. He would rarely put a cork to the angel's blabbering, no matter how long the principality spent elaborating, so Aziraphale knew to listen when he did so. 'Madam Tracy, it's been a pleasure.'</p><p>He mimed speaking on a phone by pressing his right, fingers outstretched in the shape of a receiver, to his ear and mouthed <em> Call me! </em> at her before reaching for the angel, ready to stir him away.</p><p>'Oh, don't you think you can escape without a hug.' Madam Tracy protested, throwing her arms around the demon before he could make a beeline for it.</p><p>Only, as she was pulling away, she froze a bit, then she swore under her breath with feel.</p><p>'Shit.'</p><p>'What happened?' Crowley fortified her by grabbing her shoulder, while she looked about herself frantically.</p><p>'I think I lost my earring.' She admitted, her hand fluttering to her lobe. 'Must have got caught on your glasses...'</p><p>'What did it look like?' Aziraphale was already looking for it as he asked. </p><p>She unclasped her other one, offering the shiny bijou for them to see. 'It's just piece of rubbish, really. But rubbish with history. It's a family heirloom, you see.' </p><p>She sounded defeated as she admitted.</p><p>'I knew I shouldn't have worn it. But I needed something old.' </p><p>Crowley reached in the depth of his pocket, that continued to be incredibly shallow and strangely bottomless at the same time. He passed the Bentley's keys to Aziraphale, tossing them in the air for the angel to catch. </p><p>'Go warm up the engine, put on a CD. This might take a while.' </p><p>With that the demon crouched to aim his eyes carefully on the ground, trying to find the loose piece of jewelry. </p><p>Aziraphale wanted to help of course, but Crowley was still skirting awkwardly around being kind. He performed plenty of miracles on the angel's behalf by now but he'd never once let him to hang around to see it. He'd only give the briefest account of his acts of service, just enough for Aziraphale to complete his reports. Aziraphale assumed that this scenario was just embarrassing for the demon as those trying times when he was supposed to fill in for an angel. </p><p>And anyway, his books needed attention and he was willing to do just about anything to get back to them sooner. He was no stranger to slacking either, far too comfortable with putting off an act of kindness to be considered completely angelic.</p><p>But that was the nice part. He wasn't really an angel anymore. In terms of occupation he'd only had bookstore owner left and he could be as selfish as any other businessman out there. So he decided to allow Crowley to revel in this new skill of helpfulness and attend to his own indulgences instead. There was supposed to be a tin of shortbreads in the Bentley somewhere. He made his way to the car park.      </p><p>It was merely a glorified stretch of field near a ditch, really. There waited the infernal piece of engineering, wedged in between a fancy electrical wonder and the piece of scrap metal, going by the name of Dick Turpin, that Newton insisted was a car too. The area was as unlit as these charming little rural villages tend to be and it was getting as dark as the inside of an inkpot. Aziraphale was just about able to find his way in the ensuing night without breaking his neck, but he could not fit the key in the door in the utter blackness. He contemplated using a miracle to summon light. But as he was planning to will some in existence, he heard someone speaking Crowley's name. </p><p>To his left the young witch and witchfinder were approaching. Newton was lighting their path with the torch like beam of his cellular device and he could make out the way he was offering his hand to Anathema in a chivalrous gesture of help, by the faint artificial glow. The girl gladly snatched up his fingers, but not for support, only to entangle them with hers and pull her beloved next to herself, shoulders flush. Aziraphale discarded the idea of greeting them, they were far too sweet and self absorbed for that and watched in silence as they made their way to Newton's hideous Wasabi, deep in conversation.</p><p>'Come on, I saw Crowley pouring his heart out to you, why can't you tell me what was it about?' Anathema sounded genuinely confused.</p><p>'Listen, he was pissed, he clearly never meant for any of that stuff to come to light. And he made swear I'd never tell anyone. And I'm not that sure about breaking a contract with a demon, even if it's only a verbal one…'</p><p>'Hey, I am a witch, remember? I can take care of anything he might throw at you.'</p><p>'Very reassuring.' Newton sounded dubious but also keen to share what he'd heard. He allowed himself a sideway glance at Anathema, then shook his head. 'No, really. I can't have you blurting it all out to Aziraphale…'</p><p>'Aziraphale? Now why would I want to...'</p><p>'You two are all chummy, aren't you? You spent a good deal talking to him today.' </p><p>'So? I can't see why shouldn't Aziraphale know anyway.' Said the young witch cockily. 'Aren't they supposed to friends or something? Surely, whatever crisis the demon's dealing with he'd be better qualified to sort it out. Him being an angel and all that. What do we even know about the problems of immortal beings?'</p><p>Aziraphale bent over the bonnet of the Bentley, the gravitational pull of curiosity moving him towards this conversation. Surely the angelic or the very least the rational thing to do would have been walking up to the young ones, owning up to accidentally eavesdropping and convincing them to allow him to help. Of course he was better qualified to fix the demon's mess, he was the only relevant authority when it came to the discipline of Anthony J. Crowley, full time menace, Serpent of Eden, defending champion of the title "<em>Bane of Humanity"</em>. He was Crowley's <em> side</em>. He alone was all that the demon had, the whole thing. Crowley gave up all the cushioning that comes with being a condemned agent of Hell, along with the alliances he forged down there, admittedly mostly through blackmail and bribery, but still. The Fallen may not have been the most sophisticated company a civilized demon could wish for, there was a safety in numbers and he all but traded that in for a company of a fussy old worrywart of an angel. So Aziraphale took it upon himself to be there for the demon in every way he might need the company of another immortal being. To make up for all that sudden loss. Except, apparently, he didn't even have that to offer. Not when they were still keeping things from each other.</p><p>But the angel wasn't the type to give up at the sight of the very first obstacle. So he ignored the sting in his eyes and tuned in to what the boy was saying.</p><p>'The implications are not as supernatural as you might think. Actually it's about as mundane as it gets. Well, depending on your definition of mundane.' Huffed Newton. They reached the car in the meantime, opened the doors, but did not get in. They just hovered, too distracted by their argument for perform the gross motor functions required in folding themselves into Dick Turpin. 'Besides, Aziraphale couldn't help even if he wanted to. He is kind of the root cause of the problem.'           </p><p>Aziraphale was practically draped over the car by now. He didn't dare to miss a word Newton might say. </p><p>
  <em> What?  </em>
</p><p>'Crowley, he…'</p><p>Newton was speaking softly, apparently still debating himself. Aziraphale could hear him quite well though, his senses seemingly heightened by the power of the sheer yearning to know.</p><p>'He's admitted to being in love with Aziraphale.'</p><p>
  <em> Oh God. </em>
</p><p>The urge to back away from this shocking piece of news was so strong that it propelled Aziraphale backwards, right into the vehicle behind him. Its alarm went of in an explosion of sound and light, the pained cry of a beast of rubber and alloy. With a click of his fingers he made the security system wear itself off into a silence that felt almost as loud as the noise that preceded it. But the sudden absence of artificial howling did nothing to quench the humans' curiosity and they moved as one towards the other, finer Japanese make. </p><p>Aziraphale did not care to be discovered when feeling so indisposed. Should he have been in a better state, he simply would have influenced the approaching humans to instantly take interest in some completely different matter. Instead, almost as a testimony to his poor condition, he decided to throw himself in the shelter of the Bentley's hull with uncharacteristic skill and agility</p><p>The cold mud of the field welcomed Aziraphale with a small but excited squelch and a stinking exhale of rot. It tried with all its might to suck the crouching angel's shoes right off, dreaming itself capable of bigger things like the mighty bogs of the past that used to ingest dinosaurs in a whole. Aziraphale, normally so fussy of his carefully selected wardrobe, was too busy having a mild heart attack to notice. </p><p>He watched as Newton and Anathema inspected the car. He was pretty sure that he hasn't been spotted.</p><p>'That was strange.' Newton commented, motioning Anathema back towards the Wasabi.</p><p>'Not as strange as what you've just said. Crowley in <em> love</em>? With Aziraphale of all people? Are you sure?'</p><p>'He said so himself.' </p><p>'Yes, but you know what is he like. Are you sure it isn't a prank? Some kind of practical joke?' </p><p><em> Or a misunderstanding of some sort </em>?</p><p>'I'm certain, Thema.'</p><p>'How come?' </p><p>Newton mumbled something sounding like a curse and the silence stretched between them as he hesitated again. Aziraphale spent the brief pause reassessing whether "dying from suspense" was really just a figure of speech or a well documented human phenomenon. </p><p>'He… he was crying.' Quipped Newt eventually.</p><p>That can't be right, the angel thought. Crowley never cried. Not at Pompeii. Not at the Globe when <em> Romeo and Juliet </em> premiered. He didn't flinch, standing on the ruins of Gomorrah, shockingly unmoved by the loss of the precious date wine he was so fond of. He seemed a bit depressed after Golgota, sure. But his eyes remained parched even when Aziraphale tricked him into watching that sad movie with the husband sending letters beyond the grave. The most upset he'd ever seen him was in the shadow of the Ark, seething with anger over the loss of innocent children's lives. The second most upset when Aziraphale eventually sat him down to explain the logistics involved in taking a pair of each species on the boat and the significance of Shem losing one half of the two unicorns just dawned on him. He may have misted up a little bit then. But never, not once during the 6000 year long course of the history of the whole universe did he ever actually see Crowley cr...</p><p><em> Oh. Well. Except</em>. </p><p>Except for that bar. During the Apocalypse. Where Crowley sat, all choked up, talking about losing his best friend.</p><p>Except, apparently, when it came to Aziraphale. </p><p>
  <em> One Hell of a notable exception. </em>
</p><p>'Really?' The witch's voice was curling into the shape of disbelief.</p><p>'He is suffering something terribly.' Newton was clearly agitated on the demon's behalf, his tenor jumping a pitch as he insisted. 'He can't eat, he can't sleep, he is properly sick with it.'</p><p>Now if there was ever a tell tale sign of Crowley not being himself, the lack of sleep was one. That was really concerning for a demon who once forced a century of hurt radio silence on them because he happened to be taking an overlong, hundred year nap. If Crowley had told him about his insomnia, he'd be knee deep in one of his occult books already, trying to establish the reason for his predicament.</p><p>But that was the whole point. That Crowley couldn't tell <em> him</em>. That <em> he </em> was the reason why.      </p><p>'This would sound rather concerning if he actually needed either of those things.' Anathema agreed, though she sounded a tiny bit flippant on the whole.  </p><p>'You didn't see him, you weren't there.' Newton was evidently offended by such nonchalance. 'I couldn't help but to suggest that he confessed but he was having none of it. He said he'd been maintaining this image of an aloof, detached demon for far too long. If he admitted to it now, Aziraphale would think he's talking out of his a…'</p><p>'Oh, no he mustn't do that!' Anathema interrupted and now it was her turn to be distressed. 'You should have heard Aziraphale talk about love today, Newt. Like it was something way below an ethereal creature like him. As if there is something disgraceful about feeling awe and adoration for someone other than God herself.' </p><p>Aziraphale swallowed hard, making such a desperate gulping sound he was almost certain it was audible to the young couple too. Was this really how he came across when talking about romance? No wonder Crowley struggled admitting to his feelings. </p><p>'He could not return Crowley's love, ever. He is just not cut for anything else but this vague, hazy approbation, this homogenous piety. Someone as brave and amazing as Crowley deserves better than being lumped together with everything from warm bread to West End premiers under one, all encompassing wave of deference. He should be worshipped as the strange divinity he is. No.' Anathema took a brief pause in her rant to gather her breath. 'I'll call him tomorrow, I'll talk him out of this. I'll convince him to find someone better, someone more worthy than Aziraphale.'     </p><p>'Should you?' The tone of Newton was the vocal equivalent of someone wringing their hands nervously. 'I really don't think that we should interfere…'</p><p>'Oh, this is rich, coming from you <em> after </em> you tried to play Cupid.' Scoffed Anathema. 'No, they helped avert the Apocalypse or the very least they tried to do so. The least we can offer in return is sparing them from this pointless heartbreak.' </p><p>With that the couple disappeared inside the Wasabi and the rustbucket coughed and sputtered itself into functioning, pulling out from its parking spot with difficulty. Long moments passed between its headlights getting swallowed in the dark and Aziraphale gathering the necessary composure to stand. He stepped back on the curb and inspected his ruined shoes and trousers because that was the easiest course of actions to complete. Anything else would have required him to think. Truthfully, the Apocalypse would have been a welcome distraction now, just to have something to take his mind off of this dilemma.</p><p>But before his shaken world had time to stop rocking on its disturbed cornerstones, a sound of a different set of steps roused Aziraphale from his daze. The chafe of too tight leather trying desperately to accomodate the trajectory of legs and hips defying the basic laws of biped anatomy was unmistakable. This was Crowley approaching.</p><p>'Aziraphale?' Crowley called out in the dark and the angel remembered in a fleeting fit of panic that he was supposed be sitting in the Bentley by now.</p><p>'Over here.' He grinded the words out, milling every syllable with effort. He instinctively summoned the heavenly luminescence he'd been thinking about earlier - something in the core of him was still lucid enough to not to want Crowley go twisting an ankle in the dark. Meanwhile the bigger half of him simply wished to sublimate into tiny particles that are too infinitesimal to harm or be harmed by others.</p><p>'Angel, are you okay?' There was a crease of worry on the demon's forehead. It was the basis of how the principality operated these day, not relenting until that frown ceased. 'What happened to you?' </p><p>He remembered, a beat too late, that he was suffused in mud up to his mid shin. This was nice and visible now, with the whole place aglow.</p><p>'I… I fell.' He mumbled.</p><p>Sometimes you had to be glad for being less of a person and more of a collection of nervous ticks. It meant that you could experience a minor mental breakdown without causing an alarm.</p><p>'Did you get hurt?' The demon pressed on. They looked after their corporations these days. It was likely to be their last one, now that they were both excommunicated. It was a strangely vulnerable and terrifyingly human experience. </p><p>'I'm fine.' He lied. 'Absolutely tickety boo.' </p><p>The expression was slowly earning a sort of a safe word status where it had the secondary function of signifying that things were less than optimal, but not yet ready to be discussed.    </p><p>'Then clean up.' Crowley snapped mildly. 'I'm not letting you in the Bentley like that.' </p><p>And at that, Aziraphale smiled. This was more like his suave, sardonic demon. It was almost impossible to imagine that someone like Crowley, with enough presence of mind to stop the Apocalypse, who only allowed himself to despair when facing Satan, would be silently wallowing in pain, suffering from symptoms of suppressed love.</p><p>He turned his attention to the stains in question, but was slow to recover from the numbness induced by the recent blow and found himself staring dumbly, unable to find the right sequence of actions.</p><p>'Oh, for somebody's sake, angel.' Crowley leaned a bit closer and incarcerated every atom that tainted Aziraphale with a simple exhale. Watching Crowley, the principality was suddenly reminded of Newton's words:<em> he'd been maintaining this image of an aloof, detached demon for far too long</em>. An image. Supposed to cover up something more. A crude armor to protect something tender. </p><p>'Thank you.' It was his turn to frown, while Crowley growled with frustration.</p><p>'I told you already, it's no trouble. It almost takes more effort for you thank me every time, than for me to perform a minor demonic miracle like this, you know. I wouldn't do it it, if it was such a pain. Now, will you get in the car?'</p><p>One snap and the Bentley's doors flew open. But Aziraphale wasn't done inspecting the demon yet.</p><p>'So do you take pleasure in performing generous acts?' He asked slowly. Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets anxiously with a choked noise at that.</p><p>'I never said that.'</p><p>'But you don't mind doing favours for me.' </p><p>'You are putting words in my mouth.'</p><p>'And you expect nothing in return, no reciprocation, nor gratitude?'</p><p>'On second thoughts, you are welcome to walk back to London'. Came Crowley's irritated answer.</p><p><em> Don't you dare. </em> Aziraphale thought. <em> You are the reason we are having this conversation in the first place. </em></p><p>'Crowley. I think it's time we had a bit of a chat.'</p><p>There was an expression of bewilderment on the demon's face that made Aziraphale think that perhaps he just guessed. That he remembered his drunken confession and the human's tendency to be terrible confidants. But he realised that the demon was paying more mind to his pocket than him, when Crowley pulled his right hand out of the strange depths of it, showing a shiny earring sitting in his palm.</p><p>'Is that…?' Aziraphale squinted and was distracted once more.</p><p>'What's it doing in my pocket?' Crowley racked his hand through his hair with utter bafflement.</p><p>In reality it was the courtesy of medium who occasionally encountered the odd costumer who's only means of paying her were lessons in pickpocketing and in sleigh of hands. But neither celestial beings needed to know that. They were simply supposed to bend over the jewel in hapless confusion like it was a particularly occult or divine piece of intervention they just couldn't make sense of. </p><p>'I'd… better return this.' Crowley eventually suggested sheepishly. </p><p>'I suppose you should.' Aziraphale agreed, glad for the breather.</p><p>He watched the demon retreat, the way he pulled his ears protectively between his shoulders, the strange skip of his legs as he placed them in front of each other, the sway of his hips like the bobbing of a plimsoll line on a war galleon. </p><p>For 6000 years he couldn't see the signs of tender, loving care in him. Now he couldn't help seeing it everywhere.</p><hr/><p>Crowley walked the length of the path between the car and the wedding for the third time, mumbling something about stupid, prim, fussy angels. He spotted Madam Tracey and he thought that she'd seen him too, so he began to wave with exuberant enthusiasm. But her gaze merely touched upon him, unseeing and then she returned to inspecting the dancefloor.</p><p>With the ceremonies away and done with, the party began in earnest. The subpar band was replaced by a mediocre DJ and blue and pink stroboscopic lights caressed the dancing crowd. The noise levels were teasing the pain threshold and immorality flown in almost the same abundance as the booze. This, by all means, should have been Crowley's scene and he felt a vague pang of professional guilt for secretly preferring the quiet nightcap he was in for in the angel's company. He stifled it, as always, by blaming Aziraphale and approached Madam Tracy.</p><p>She was busy screaming fondly at her newly acquired husband who stood by her side, nursing a cupful of something diffusing an unholy smell of undiluted alcohol. She still hadn't spotted Crowley as she said: </p><p>'Now I wouldn't have believed it myself, but I've heard it from Anathema and she <em> was </em> talking to Aziraphale earlier.'</p><p>'But the southern pansy and the southern bastard…?' Shadwell  somehow, managed to be equally discontent and overloud.</p><p>'Firstly, we talked about the use of this kind of language Mr S. And secondly, well, if I had to guess why an angel would be in kahoots with a demon, I never in a million years would have suggested that it had to do with love. I mean I knew he likes Crowley well enough, sure. But I thought that their alliance was born out of the angel's indiscriminate fondness for everyone on God's Earth. You know what I mean. If he is redemption himself then it's only natural that he'd be attracted to the company of the unredeemable, no? It's almost like a law of nature, a sort of moral magnetism. But Aziraphale confessing being in love with Crowley is a whole new, unexpected dimension. I'm almost as baffled as you are.' </p><p>The demon didn't really choose to retreat by backing away as much as he collided with the words like they've composed a solid brick wall and simply rebounded. Straight into a waiter, navigating the crowds behind him. The man's metal tray fell to the ground amidst the crisp sounds of the shattering glass and it made the same noise as a sheet of tin when waved about as it rolled around in diminishing concentric circles. This clutter was especially pronounced as there was a beat of a break in the music. Madam Tracy turned to look at the source of the din, but Crowley was hiding under a linen covered table by then. Under one that was within earshot, of course.</p><p>He risked a peek from behind the shelter of the crisp, white table cloth and saw Madam Tracy watching as the waiter gathered his bearings, swearing profoundly, his muffled curses drowned out by the renewed blast of music. Madam Tracey, apparently mollified, reached over, retrieved Shadwell's cup and took a swig that would've put the 'whure of Babylon' into shame from what was, evidently, a tumbler full of paint thinner. </p><p>'Well, wumman, even if thass true,' contemplated Shadwell. 'the southern…  I mean the angel, he doesn' really show it.'</p><p>'Oh, I know and that's the tragedy of it, Mr S. But how could he ever do it with Crowley being such a coward?'</p><p>'Coward?' Growled Shadwell.</p><p><em>'Coward?' </em>Echoed Crowley mentally from his hiding place under the table.</p><p>'Oh, he's got swagger, he's got bravado but Anthony J Crowley never ever does anything without piling insurance upon insurance and having as many back up plans as letters in the Chinese abc.' Declared Madam Tracy. 'The angel is the truly reckless one and probably the one that jumps the gun while Crowley still toes the line, but he won't gamble with his heart like that.' </p><p>The part about the angel being reckless was true at least, Crowley had to begrudgingly admit. But that's precisely what made their collaboration so successful. If the angel was going to do such stunts as giving his flaming sword away and <em> lie to the Almighty about it</em>, well than Crowley had all the more reasons to stay ahead of the game to protect the angel from the consequences of his own actions. </p><p>'Just think about their dynamic on the whole, the typical imbalance of power there, with Crowley being all padded against the potential fallout from their Arrangement and Aziraphale taking the bigger risk.' Continued Madam Tracy, gesturing wildly with her drink, spreading a shower of her liquor fanning around her. 'A demon doing favors for an angel can be explained away as part of the long con to make a principality Fall. An angel tempting on a demon's behalf just doesn't have the same natural feel to it, no neat succession of cause and effect. Don't get me wrong, I don't pity Aziraphale, he knew full well what he was getting into. I'm guessing he couldn't deny Crowley as usual. But it's only understandable that this kind of dependency, where he has everything to lose and Crowley everything to take, doesn't suffice him any more.'</p><p>'Is he gonna talk to the bastard?' </p><p>'Not without a sign from Crowley, no. I told Anathema to tell him, forget about the demon altogether. It just doesn't seem to work, this setup where one all but wears his heart on his sleeve while the other one huddles his cards close to his chest.'</p><p>Shadwell reached out, grabbing Madam Tracy's hand where it was clutching a cup and mumbled with tenderness that was disconcertingly alien coming from him. </p><p>'It does, sometimes, thankfully.' And he placed a kiss on her fingers, their slender elegance emphasised by their bony outlines, that laid taro and soothed hearts with such incomparable grace. </p><p>With that Crowley had just about enough visual imagery of a flirty Shadwell burned in his brain to taunt him for the next few centuries. Moreover he judged the couple sufficiently distracted for him to slip out from under the table. </p><p>He did that with considerable style, he'd hoped. Not many people can make retreating, beaten, from a hiding place below knee level look cool, but <em> Go </em> … <em> somebody </em> help him, he tried. He staggered as he stood, like his legs fell asleep, though it wasn't the case and this quickly made him realise that he won't manage the rest of the night without the scaffolding of some liquid courage to prop his crumbling morals up. He snatched up a cup from the very table he was hiding under and dipped it into a nearby punch bowl. Throwing back a mouthful, he frowned. The whole thing taste bitter like anything, toe curlingly awful and it wasn't even strong enough to have worth the trouble. He did not know what fucker did such injustice to this unassuming, but otherwise fine little drink, but he cursed the bastard vehemently anyway. But while it may not have been rocket fuel, albeit it tasted just like that, the week cocktail propelled him all the way back to the car. </p><p>Just seeing the angel, claiming shotgun imperially, like he'd been doing for a hundred years now, helped him collect his scattered composure too, reminding him that someone as unaffected and robust as the angel would never experience such a thing as infatuation. Crowley counted mizantropi amongst Aziraphale's best qualities, a bastardly little flavour only to bring out his overall sweetness. Not that he hated anyone, mind, it's just that he found the general populace disdainfully distracting when there was so little time and so many books to read with many more yet in the making. He was reminiscing happily about the time he'd bumped into Aziraphale in a tavern in ancient Rome, finding him playing rota <em> alone, </em> as he stepped to the car, still cloaked in darkness.</p><p>Only to behold the sight of the angel sitting with an expression best describable as perplexed, cradling the untouched tin of biscuits. He was scolding at the radio presently and Crowley recognised the beats of <em> Somebody to Love </em> even through the substantial layers of metal and glass. The angel reached over, muted the mellow voice of Freddy Mercury and Crowley could virtually hear him thinking <em> 'That's quite enough my dear boy.' </em>      </p><p>It suddenly brought back the rest of the flashback, along with the realisation that best part was the angel's èlan, antithetical to his solitary composure, upon spotting Crowley in the crowd. The smile he flashed at Crowley was too bright, almost volatile, stunning in the same sense as a flash grenade. </p><p><em> Impossible</em>. Sure, Aziraphale cherished the world overall, in that mild, diluted, angelic way of his but simultaneously, he was admirably disgruntled with the lesser parts of it. And while he had an appreciation for good food and fine wine and other delights this mudball had to offer, one could say that the only thing he loved were his blasted books and that was pretty much the furthest extent of Aziraphale's meddling with passion.</p><p><em> Fuck. Except</em>.</p><p>Except that church. During the Blitz. Where Crowley extended his tentative feelers, expecting to find the treasured volumes, the rarest and most valuable ones of Aziraphale's collection, already under the blanket of the angel's blessing. Only to learn that all that divine power was focused solely, instead, on him. He'd never experienced such grace since he'd Fallen and being under the protective thaumaturgy of the angel felt almost… like redemption. It was disturbing but in an enthralling, exhilarating sense, like when drunk, with your rational self shrinking into a tiny, judgemental focal point to provide an unhelpful running commentary of the ongoing events. Aziraphale loved nothing more than his books and particularly the ones the German was clutching in his hands but he spared them no second thoughts when busy keeping Crowley safe from the crude forces encapsulated in the diorama of destruction around them. Aziraphale loved his books exclusively, yet he was willing to let them be blown to smithereens in order to save Crowley. Ergo…</p><p>There was no point in following that derailed train of thoughts, there was only the act of magnanimously sparing the books that made sense in that time and place. But Madam Tracy's words put things into a new context and Crowley wondered…</p><p>But then, when did <em> that </em> lead to anything good?</p><p>He sunk in the driver's seat, forlorn, like he was lowering his weight on an electric chair. </p><p>'Crowley.' The angel addressed him as soon as he put the door in and he remembered that Aziraphale wanted to talk before he rushed off to return the lost property only to find that the same path he'd taken on the way back lead him to a completely different place. Terra incognita, a world parallel to his own, a universe where the angel could love somebody like him. </p><p>He bent to the radio, feigning ignorance, like he hadn't heard Aziraphale's soft plea and fought the urge to usher the music to switch from <em> Good, old fashioned lover boy </em>to something gritty and mad with a swift kick in the dashboard. It was pointless anyway, the Bentley was a law onto itself when it came to playlists. </p><p>It's not like he hasn't been pushing this agenda pretty much since he'd met the angel, softly poking the idea every millennia or so. But that was different, part of the self deprecating, grotesque pleasure he'd take in making himself a nuisance, part of his meticulously built brand of knocking on doors that would never open, crashing places, showing up where he wasn't welcome. Asking the question nobody ever answered, nobody even wanted asked. It was all of that and more, his blasted curiosity getting the better of him, him bothering the <em> what ifs </em>like they were patch of sore skin, unable to scab. It was coded in his demonic nature, a creature of greed and discord, to ask for everything and more, for the one thing that Aziraphale wasn't willing to give. It was the same principle as with the apple, wasn't it? If you are so glad for me to have everything else, than why not this?</p><p>'What did she say?' The angel asked and Crowley lagged to process the question, until he remembered the pressure of the small earring against the skin of his palm. He never got as far as returning the bijou.</p><p>'Bloody thrilled she was.' He grumbled, pocketing the jewel inconspicuously. Madam Tracey wasn't the only one well versed in sleigh of hands.</p><p>With that the longest journey in Crowley's life, scratch that, in the history of Earth had begun, with the demon living off small eternities between every street light bathing the angel's expression in unhealthy fluorescence. There was less painful anticipation involved in the actual <em> Fall </em> than this. That was a mere, vague saunter. This was a bloody freefall.</p><p>And as ever, the landing meant the main problem. So when in Soho the angel gingerly suggested a nightcap he found himself mumbling "Another time" or something to that effect and he drove off like all of Hell's demons were after him. </p><p>When, truthfully, something of the opposite was the case</p>
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